


vows that bind us

by xavierurban



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Brainwashing, Dragons, Enchantments, F/M, Fantasy, Handfasting, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Magic, Minor Character Death, Norse, Pagan, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Shapeshifters - Freeform, Slavery, Supernatural - Freeform, Telepathy, WinterHawk Big Bang, Winterhawk Reverse Big Bang, bounty hunter!clint barton, dragon!Bucky, enslavement, misc. cameos, shapeshifter!Bucky, sniperhusbands, warlock!hive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 05:18:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12976842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xavierurban/pseuds/xavierurban
Summary: Clint kisses back with just as much passion, just as much longing, and Bucky thinks he might drown in it all. It’s just too much, too much to have and not be able to keep, and Bucky wants to take, and take, and take, until there’s nothing left, just himself and Clint and no world to hide away from.He could do it, he knows he could. He could shift, could pluck Clint up the same way he has so many times before, and they could fly away, could just keep flying until they reach somewhere that has never heard the names Bucky Barnes or Clint Barton before. Clint would let him. Clint wouldthankhim.But he won’t do that.aka: the historically inaccurate, pseudo-norse paganism fantasy story about a mindfucked shapeshifter and the stubborn-in-love archer who won’t break his promise that you probably never knew you needed until right now





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning:** I didn't tag this as non-con so as not to deter anyone who might be put off as there is nothing sexual in nature of that regard, however this does deal with canon-similar themes of being brainwashed, enslaved, and used as a weapon. Additionally, there is mild violence throughout a few scenes, and one scene of graphic violence towards the end.
> 
> \---- ----
> 
> This is my first foray into the MCU/Marvel fandom for writing (although I do have several others wips on-the-go, some of which were started prior to this one), so please be gentle, but I would love any feedback you wish to provide! I've been nervous to stick my toe in here as a writer when there's already so much quality fic in the fandom to contend with, but I have so much floating around in my head, and I thought starting with a Big Bang might be a good place to start, since the commitment relieves me of that ability to simply back out. Anyway, I really hope someone out there enjoys this!
> 
> Of course, this work is dedicated to my lovely artist, Vic, and their lovely piece [the dragon and the archer](http://starshieldfolder.tumblr.com/post/168397414121/the-dragon-and-the-archer) ♥ I hope this is at least as good as you were hoping for when you submitted your art.
> 
> Self-beta'd, all mistakes are my own. Please let me know if you catch anything that needs correcting!

Clint whistles - low and long, with a brief, higher-pitched note at the end - from his hiding spot in the woods. It's a good spot, if he does say so himself, but Bucky will always be better at tracking than he is at hiding. If it were anyone else, Clint would be confident that he'd never be found, but it's not anyone else, so Clint is just as confident that he will be.  
  
His confidence, as always, isn't misplaced.  
  
He quirks his head to the side as the leaves a few feet away rustle, and bites down on his lip to hide his giddy smile. He raises his arm into the air above him, elbow locked to brace it against impact, and seconds later a large dragon with black scales and silver spikes down its back comes barreling through the branches; it catches Clint's arm carefully between its claws and then they're off, soaring through the trees. Clint lets out a joyful cheer as they fly higher to avoid a branch and then promptly duck back in low, into the cover provided by the trees.  
  
All too quickly they're approaching a clearing in the woods; Clint shifts as they move lower, taps at the dragon's scaly foot, and then it’s letting him go. Clint gives another cheer as he falls, tucking himself into a ball and rolling back to his feet once he hits solid ground. He's grinning as he turns around to watch the dragon land, its movements just as graceful in this form as they are when he's fully human.  
  
The dragon's wings settle neatly against its sides, and it ducks its head in expectation. Clint approaches with light steps and an outstretched arm, and chuckles to himself when Bucky snorts out a huff of warm breath in response to the hand that strokes along his snout. Clint presses closer after a long moment, and rests his own forehead against Bucky's cool scales. Bucky huffs again after a while has passed, and Clint steps back a few paces before flopping down onto his back amid the grass and weeds in the clearing. A moment later, there's a solid weight crushing down on him and he lets out a huff of his own.  
  
"Gods-be-damned, warn a guy first," he mutters even as he brings an arm up to wrap around Bucky's fully human - and fully nude - body.  
  
"Shut it," Bucky replies easily. He shifts around a few times, getting comfortable before he settles and goes utterly lax against Clint's body.  
  
Clint tilts his head to look down at him, admiring the way the moonlight makes the other boy's skin seem to glow. He drops a kiss to Bucky's temple before settling back down, his head thumping back against the hard ground.  
  
"Can think of a lotta better things t’ do with my mouth than shut it," he teases eventually, and winces when Bucky digs an elbow into his gut, "Fuck, okay. I was just sayin’, is all..."  
  
“Yeah, I bet,” the other boy grumbles, but Clint can hear the fondness there, he's sure of it. Sure enough, anyway, that he's content to just drift there for a while, staring absently at the stars while Bucky’s warm weight keeps him tethered.  
  
“Thought you were gonna bring your bow tonight?” Bucky pipes up after a few minutes have passed, “Somethin’ ‘bout practicin’ shootin’ while in the air.”  
  
“Yeah, well. I realized I'm gonna need a softer quiver or a new dismount plan first,” he says, chuckling when Bucky winces sympathetically.  
  
“Yeah, alright,” Bucky agrees, “You're enough of a walkin’ bruise mosta the time anyhow.”  
  
Clint snorts, and pokes gently at Bucky’s hip with a fingertip. “You know, a whole lotta these are from you,” he points out, “And I don' mean your scaly alter-ego.”  
  
Bucky grins, and finally shifts to face Clint, his knees settling on either side of the other boy’s body as he straddles him.  
  
“I don't remember you complainin’ before,” he says, and Clint arches up to kiss the smug look right off of his face; there isn't much more talking after that.


	2. vows that bind us

Clint sighs to himself and sets his empty tumbler on the bar top. He'd reached the outskirts of the village the night before, and decided that the local tavern would be the best place to start his search. So far, it's only been whispers and rumours that he's managed to hear, and he's hoping for something a little more concrete.

“Another pint for the weary traveller?”

Clint blinks, and looks up from the counter. There's a barmaid stood before him, a pretty, slender woman with flaming red hair, and Clint musters a smile for her.

“Aye,” he agrees, tipping his head to her when she clears away his empty mug and sets down a fresh mug of ale, “Thanks.”

The woman nods in return, and pulls a cloth from her belt to wipe down the counter. “You look troubled,” she muses, and Clint considers her for a long moment, “What's her name?”

Clint chuckles, and shakes his head.

“It's no maiden,” he denies, and then takes a long swallow of his drink. Tavern workers can be a good resource, something he's learned over the months since he finally left home, and Clint decides to take a chance. He sets his drink back on the bar and sighs again.

“Been hearing a lot of talk about a dragon in these parts,” he hedges, and he can see the woman's face shut down a bit; he'll have to tread carefully. “S’pose I can't help bein’ a bit weary. Seems I picked the wrong county to be passin’ through.”

The barmaid eyes the bow and quiver propped up against his stool and frowns. “You are a hunter, no?” She asks, and Clint shrugs.

“Small game,” he concedes, and it’s not, strictly speaking, a lie. He had started out that way, back in his home village, only hunting animals that you might find on the dinner table and the odd wolf that found its way too close to the village's borders, but he's had to adapt in the months since he ventured out on his own. There isn't a whole lot of honourable work out there for a traveller, and bounties… Well, they often pay well, and beggars can't be choosers.

Not that Clint has allowed himself to become a weapon in the hands of anyone who can pay. In fact, for every honest bounty he's collected, there's a scapegoated innocent who he's helped escape - and feigned it well enough to collect on anyway.

Now isn't the time to play the bounty hunter card, though, and Clint lets his voice go wistful as he adds, “Can't say I ever intended t’go dragon huntin’.”

“But you find it intriguing,” she surmises, and her posture finally relaxes, her smile gone fond around the edges when Clint nods. “Our men could use the help,” she says, “But the parties we send out come back smaller and more worse for the wear every time. You've no obligation to us.”

Clint lifts his mug, looking at its contents as he swirls them. “No more obligation than I'd have to any town in need, ma’am,” he says as he looks up at her again, his expression schooled into something earnest.

“Ain't much of a reward for bringin’ it down, if you're looking for a payday,” she tells him, eyes boring into him as if she thinks she can see his soul, “Our village hasn't much to spare these days.”

“Ain't lookin’ for hand-outs, darlin’,” he promises, and reaches into his pocket. As if to prove his point, Clint pulls out enough coin to settle his tab and leave her a generous tip. He drains the last of his drink, and then stands, grabbing his bow and quiver.

“Don't suppose you could tell me when the next party heads out?” He asks as he slings the quiver over his shoulder, and the woman considers him for a long moment before she smiles.

“You're in luck,” she tells him, “They leave from the yard of the Inn at dawn."

* * *

  _Clint is walking home from target practice, the midday autumn air cool against his sweat-slicked skin, when it happens. The village seems eerily silent as he makes his way through the streets, but when he finally hears voices, it gives him pause. Admittedly, his hearing isn’t amazing even on his best day, but it’s still good enough that he doesn’t doubt what he just heard._

_And what he just heard was definitely something about a dragon._

_Sucking in a breath, Clint ducks into the shadows of the barn he was passing, skirting the edges to get to the far side; around the next corner is the village tavern, and the voices beginning to talk over each other means there’s some kind of gathering going on outside. He holds his breath, and strains to hear more clearly._

_“Not just any dragon!” Someone is saying - insisting, really - and Clint’s stomach churns uncomfortably._

_“Yes, yes, a shifter, you said,” someone else replies, and they sound disbelieving, but Clint can’t trust that that will last. Can’t trust that people will find this rumour to be too outlandish to bother with. He feels cold all over, suddenly, and it’s nothing to do with the cooling sweat on his body or the autumn breeze._

_“You don’t believe me?” The first voice says, and there are too many mixed responses for Clint to really make out. “I saw him!” The voice hollers, and everyone quiets, “I saw him with my own two eyes. It was that Barnes guy. A fuckin’ shifter, hidin’ amongst us all these years!”_

_The murmuring starts up again, and Clint’s fingers twitch at his sides like he wants to hold his bow instead of carrying it on his back. But what is he going to do? Slaughter an unknown number of his fellow villagers to protect Bucky’s secret? It isn’t that he wouldn’t, just that it would be pointless. Others would come to investigate the chaos, and then it would be him who has to run - and there could still be others who’ve already been told._

_No, attacking without all the information would probably only make things worse, for Bucky and for himself - but it’s hard to gather information when he can hardly make out one voice from the next. It isn’t like he can just step out and join them, not when they’ve already named Bucky as their target. There isn’t a soul in the village who doesn’t know that he and Bucky are a package deal._

_Someone whistles after a few more moments have passed, a fevered energy having started to spread between those gathered outside the tavern, and a new voice speaks up._

_“I believe the lad!” The person declares, “I always knew there was somethin’ off with that family, and this just proves it. That traitor of a woman, hidin’ a shifter, keepin’ our village from its rightful glory! If she wasn’t dead already, I’d have her hanged for it.”_

_The crowd cheers its agreement, and Clint bites down on his tongue to suppress a growl, because that’s too far. Winnie Barnes was a gods-be-damned model citizen whose only crime was loving her son too much to sell him into slavery. Her death a few years prior had hit both Bucky and Clint hard, and hearing anyone talk poorly of her sets his teeth on edge._

_The frenzied cheering goes on until the man from before speaks up again, and Clint feels every vein in his body freeze as if filled with ice. He keeps listening because he needs to know, can only prepare for what he can predict, but as soon as the voices finally start to drift further away, nothing but a hushed, excited droning in the distance, he bolts. He keeps to what shadows he can until he’s put some distance between himself and the mob of worked-up villagers, and then slows to a seemingly casual stroll even as he quickly makes his way back to the hut that he shares with Bucky._

_“Bucky!” He’s calling out as soon as the door is shut and locked behind him. His bow and quiver clatter to the floor as he shouts again for the other man._

_“Clint?” Bucky sounds uncertain as he steps out from behind the drapes that separate their bedroom from the rest of their living-space. He eyes Clint’s weapons, their careless treatment highly uncharacteristic of the archer, and puts his hands in front of him in what’s meant to be a soothing gesture. He doesn’t really get the chance to take in Clint’s expression before he finds himself with an armful of archer as Clint launches himself at him and clings desperately._

_“Clint?” He asks again, softer this time, more concerned, and Clint shudders in his arms, “You’re scarin’ me, doll.”_

_Clint clings tighter, impossible as that had seemed in the second before, and tilts his head back to look up at Bucky; the panic and fear painted across his face is enough to have Bucky drawing him closer still. He makes a questioning noise, and Clint’s eyes glaze over for a moment before clearing._

_“They know, Buck,” he manages to whisper after a few seconds have passed, and Bucky frowns, not following._

_“Who knows what, Clint?” He asks, and he hopes he at least sounds more patient than he feels, but something has spooked his boy and the sooner he knows what, the sooner he can deal with the problem._

_“You!” Clint cries out, pulling back so that he can cup Bucky’s face between his hands instead of clinging to his tunic, “They know about you.”_

_Bucky freezes, his eyes wide with shock, and the glazed look returns to Clint’s._

_“We have to go, Buck,” Clint says, leaning his forehead against Bucky’s for a moment, “I heard them; they said they were comin’ for ya tonight. They don't think you'll risk shiftin’ in the village because of your size.” He looks pained and confused when Bucky reaches up to catch his wrists and pull his hands away from his face._

_“This is our home, Clint,” he says quietly, dejectedly, “I can’t just ask you to leave with me.”_

_“You’re not askin’, I’m tellin’,” Clint says fiercely, hands and wrists flexing until Bucky releases him, “They wanna use you, Buck. They're mad you an’ your ma hid it from ‘em. They were talkin’ all about how you have a duty to help the village. How with power like yours, we could take the whole country in time. You deserve more than that. I won't let ‘em have you, Bucky.”_

_There is a war going on behind Bucky’s eyes, and Clint presses close to him again, kisses him hard, and deep, and sure. Bucky’s arm around his waist and hand against his cheek feel like an apology, however, and Clint whines, low and wounded, when Bucky eventually breaks the kiss._

_“Buck-” he starts, but Bucky places a finger to his lips, cutting him off._

_“I won’ ask ya to leave your life behind for me, Clint,” he tells him, and Clint shakes his head._

_“You are my life!” He protests, and, fuck, those are tears shining in his eyes now, and Bucky isn’t sure that he’s strong enough to do this._

_“Clint,” he tries again, weakly, as he brushes a stray tear away with his thumb, “Please don’t go cryin’, doll. This is my mess, an’ you deserve more than a life on the run.”_

_“I don’t care,” Clint tells him, and Bucky wants to be selfish, wants to beg Clint to come with him, but he can’t. He can’t make Clint into a fugitive, can’t bring that danger down upon him._

_“I do,” Bucky says, a note of finality in his voice as he steps away from the other man. Clint moves to embrace him again, and Bucky takes another step back. The hurt on Clint’s face when he does is almost too much to bear._

_“Bucky,” he tries one last time, his voice seemingly just as watery as his eyes, and Bucky sets his jaw and turns his back on the other man. His intention had been to start moving to pack a bag of some sort, but Clint chokes out an anguished sob, and Bucky can’t help himself. He moves over to a shelf along the wall, and takes down one of the baskets that was lining it. He dumps it out across the shelf and then picks up the item he was looking for._

_When he turns back around, he can see the way that Clint is tracking him with his eyes, the way his body is held tightly, the way his shoulders are curled in as if he’s trying to make himself small, and Bucky aches to hold him._

_Instead, he approaches him slowly but confidently, and then reaches for Clint’s hand, turning it palm-up. He places his own over it, letting what he was holding drop into Clint’s hand before he gently closes Clint’s fingers over it and lets go._

_Clint’s expression goes haywire for a moment when he finally opens his hand; Bucky barely has time to name the emotions that flicker on his face before the next one takes over. Finally, Clint lifts his hand up to his chest, the braided cord of purple, grey, and red ribbons dangling loosely, and lets out a sob._

_It’s a handfasting cord, one that Bucky had made himself with a little help from his sister, Rebecca. He had only just finished it a few weeks earlier, and had planned to ask Clint to be tied to him during the celebrations for the winter solstice in a few weeks’ time. That wouldn’t happen now. Now, it would only serve as proof that Bucky loves him, that leaving him behind was not something he wanted to do but rather something he had to do._

_“You’re gonna have t’go on foot, Buck,” Clint says after several moments have passed with nothing but the sound of Clint’s stifled sobs, “You c’n sneak around a lot easier, won't be as much of a target.” The smile he gives is too pained to be genuine, but Bucky appreciates it all the same._

_“There's a letter, tucked into the sidin’ of that old cabinet by the bed,” Bucky tells him as he finally starts throwing together a few supplies, “Use it. It will be better for you.”_

_“Buck-” Clint starts, but Bucky turns and stares at him, his eyes hard with determination._

_“Use it,” he repeats, “I won' have ‘em lynchin’ you for thinkin’ ya knew ‘bout me. You know it's illegal t’ harbour a shifter.”_

_It strikes Clint, then, that for all that Bucky portrayed a calm and carefree facade, he'd been expecting this. Or at least making contingencies in case it came to this. He's not sure if it hurts more that Bucky had always planned to leave him behind, or that he'd already thought out the best ways to protect Clint even after he was gone. Regardless..._

_“Can't lynch me if I ain't here,” he tries for the final time, and Bucky’s expression softens. He comes closer, stopping right in front of Clint and draws him into a slow kiss that feels an awful lot like ‘goodbye.’_

_“No, Clint,” he says firmly when they finally separate, “‘m sorry, doll.”_

_Clint blinks back the fog in his eyes and nods even as he can feel his heart breaking in his chest all over again._

_“You need to go,” he relents, “I'll call for ya when it's safe enough t’ come back-” Bucky opens his mouth to protest, and Clint raises a finger to his lips, “You won' be able to take much with you right now. I'll gather what I can for ya, whatever you can carry that will be of use, and I'll meet you, help ya tie it on.” Clint pauses to take a shuddering breath and then continues, “But I can't do that righ’ now, not if I'm t’ stay here and try to slow ‘em down when they come.”_

_Bucky knows Clint is right, and he glances at the bag he’d begun to pack before looking at Clint again and nodding._

_“I won’t change my mind,” he says, though, because he needs Clint to understand that, “About bringin’ you along.”_

_Clint smiles at him sadly, and moves around Bucky to finishing packing the bag himself after safely tucking the cord away in his pocket._

_“I know.”_

* * *

“Evenin’, folks,” Clint greets, his bow in hand and quiver and satchel slung over his shoulder as he raises a hand in greeting. The scattered villagers outside the Inn spare him varying amounts of attention, but only a few actually approach.

“Can we help you, laddy?” One of them asks. He’s a burly man with short greying ginger hair and a large moustache above his lip. His skin looks rough and weathered, a sure sign that he’d spent his life out in the elements as a working man, and the others who had approached are standing around him. Presumably, this man is the leader of the party, then, even if he doesn’t look much like a warrior, or at least, he doesn't anymore. A respected village elder, perhaps.

“Sir,” Clint says, ducking his head slightly in a show of respect. He tries to radiate casualness, not wanting to come on too strong; no one wants to take a careless thrill-seeker out on such an important hunt. He clears his throat, and looks back up to meet the man’s gaze, “Heard from that nice maiden down at the tavern that you folks could use another body.”

The man eyes the bow and quiver over his shoulder and raises an eyebrow.

“You ever hunted a dragon before?” He asks, and Clint only hesitates for a moment. He doubts the barmaid has had the chance to talk to him, and even if she had, he could always say he’d omitted a few details to her, too weary of how she might respond.

“No, Sir,” he says, but continues quickly, “But my Pa, he hunted all sorts of things, told me all kinds of stories ‘bout the best ways to kill different creatures.” He lets himself go a little starry-eyed as he adds, “Never thought I’d actually get t’ follow in his footsteps, he’d be so proud.”

If the man thinks that Clint’s a liar (and by the gods, he is; his father was nothing but a drunk with a quick temper), he doesn’t let it show. Instead, his gaze softens a little and he sighs, waving Clint closer.

“Alright, sonny,” he says, and Clint gives him a hesitant smile, “I sure hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Clint murmurs as the man gestures for one of the other villagers to step forward, “I just want to help. I’m a real good shot.” He gives the new arrival an assessing look, and then holds his hand out to the first man, “I’m Clint, by the way.”

“Timothy,” the man replies with a quick but firm shake of his hand before he nods to the younger man next to him, “This here is Sam. Stick with him, kid.” With that, he gives a decisive nod and walks away, taking the few remaining onlookers with him.

Clint scratched at the back of his neck as he turned to face Sam.

“So, I guess you’re, like, my huntin’ buddy now, huh?” He asks, and manages a small smile when the other man lets out a bark of laughter.

“Guess so,” Sam agrees, but his tone turns more serious as he adds, “She must have seen something special in you.”

Clint frowns, cocking his head to the side.

“Natalia,” Sam explains, and his smile is fond in a way that make Clint’s heart ache with nostalgia, “The barmaid you mentioned - red hair? Piercing gaze? Beautiful?” He waits for Clint to nod before continuing, “We get a lot of people passing through just to gawk at the wreckage, or looking for glory in being able to say they went up against a dragon and survived. Natalia… She helps us weed out the less reliable volunteers. She’s got a wicked sixth sense for reading people.”

Clint files that little tidbit away for later, and scuffs the toe of his shoe in the dirt, “Well, I’m glad I passed the test, then.”

The final hours of the night pass quickly after that, with Clint doing his best to make himself useful amongst the preparations for the hunt. He helps clean and store weapons, makes sure the rations are doled out evenly, and even aids the healers to package up the jars and vials of remedies and cures that they’ve provided.

Dawn is just barely starting to break over the horizon when the members of the group move to collect their packs and start off in a wave towards the woods. Clint ties his and Bucky’s ribbons securely to his quiver, and sticks close to Sam as they head out.

* * *

 

> My love,  
>    
>  If you're reading this, I had to leave and I can only assume you already know why, or that you will soon enough. I never wanted to lie to you, but it was safer for both of us if you never knew.  
>    
>  I love you, may you never doubt that. But you deserve a love that is as honest as it is true, and I couldn't give you that.  
>    
>  All I ask is that you live a full life and find another great love.  
>    
>  Yours always,  
>  James

 

_Tears fall from Clint's eyes as he reads the letter for what must be the hundredth time. It doesn't matter that it was written as a lie, the truth is still undeniably there. Bucky's love, and his plea for Clint to move on: Clint knows it's all real, that Bucky meant it with every fiber of his being -- and it hurts._

_Bucky couldn't have known that Clint would vow to himself to follow him someday, but this letter… it suggests that he hadn't even expected it. Clint thought Bucky had known. They weren't much for sweet words, the pair of them, but he thought Bucky knew._

_And hadn't he? He was going to ask Clint to enter into a handfasting with him, surely he would only have done so if he was sure Clint would say yes?_

_Or had that just been a platitude? Something to ease Clint’s heart while Bucky slipped out the back door?_

_He's still lost in a cloud of doubt as night falls and the banging on his door starts. There's no need to feign the devastation on his face when he goes to answer it, but he stands his ground when someone tries to push past him._

_“Where is he?” The man demands, and Clint recognizes him as one of the town's esteemed warriors, a survivor of the war that had occurred when Clint and Bucky were still young boys._

_Clint just looks at him, lets him read the pain in his eyes. “What in the gods are you on about?” He demands, his voice raspy from the tears he hasn't kept at bay since Bucky left._

_“Barnes,” the man - Howard, that's his name- spits, “Where is he?”_

_“What’s going on?” Clint asks wearily, then adds, “I don't know.”_

_Howard tries again to push past him, and the crowd behind him shifts restlessly. “Don't think you can hide him from us, Barton. We'll go through you if ya make us.”_

_Clint shoves the other man back roughly, and lets out a frustrated growl._

_“He's not here!” He shouts, and his chest is heaving even as he loses the heat in his voice when he admits, “He… he left.” Clint clutches the letter in his hand tightly and seeks out a sympathetic face in the crowd._

_“Someone tell me what in Odin’s name is goin’ on,” he pleads, and he sees a few of the villagers start to crack._

_A woman steps forward, one of the few healers in the village, and Clint is only glad that it isn't Sarah. He isn't sure he could handle Stevie’s ma coming after Bucky like this, not when the three boys had grown up thick as thieves. Hell, when Bucky’s own ma passed, it was Sarah who took him in until he ended up staying with Clint._

_“Clint,” she says, soft but nonetheless stern, “He isn't what you think he is, son.”_

_Clint bites his tongue, wants to shout at her that he isn't her “son,” but it will only make things worse._

_“I don't understand,” he says, and the numbness in his voice is real even if the words are a lie._

_The villagers erupt into angry shouts, and Clint can’t really make out any distinct claims. He must look awfully overwhelmed because Howard calls for silence and everyone obeys._

_Howard stares at him, a twitch in his jaw. “Barnes is a shifter,” he says clearly, and Clint stumbles back a step, anything to sell his surprise even if it finally allows the other man to push his way inside Clint’s home._

_“No,” Clint murmurs, “No, that's not- He can't-” He flounders, and grips the letter tighter, “That can't be true.”_

_The healer woman looks at him pityingly._

_“It's true,” she tells him, “My boy, Brock, he saw it with his own eyes. One minute, as human as you or me, and the next…” She trails off for a moment,an attempt at suspense, and then claps loudly, “A dragon, right where he stood. A dragon! Can you believe that?”_

_“It's true,” Brock pipes up from next to his mother, “I always knew there was something off about that man.”_

_Clint draws in deep, shuddering breaths, and retreats further into his home._

_“You're lyin’,” he accuses, hysteria making its way into his tone, his disjointed movements. He turns to Howard and shoves the man towards the door. “Get out of my home! I won't- I won't have you talkin’ this nonsense here! Isn't it enough that he's gone an’ left me here?!”_

_Someone steps forward from the crowd, but under the cover of darkness Clint can't tell who._

_“He doesn't know anythin’,” he says, and Clint feels a rush of relief that at least someone has bought his act, “We're wastin’ time, Stark.”_

_Howard gives Clint one last long look and then moves towards the door._

_“You don't fool me, Barton,” he says darkly, “I ain't done with you.”_

_He leaves after that, and Clint can't stand to watch as he rallies the mob. He slams the door shut, but it does little to drown out the fevered jeering of the crowd as they start towards the woods._

_He really hopes Bucky had enough time for a decent head start._

* * *

The trek through the woods goes on for hours, the leaves of the trees and the shade they provide the only things keeping the sun from baking them all as it rises higher and higher in the sky. It’s mid-afternoon by the time they reach a wide field that Clint is sure it will take them at least a few more hours to successfully cross. With the heat of the summer sun bearing down on them, Clint finds himself dreading it.

It turns out he isn’t the only one put off by the daunting task of walking with no shade, though. Timothy calls for a break, their first real one of the day, and they all linger on the edge of the forest for a while, feeding and watering themselves, and Clint can feel the unease rolling off of many of the party members. He can understand it, really; the vast expanse of open field that they need to cross will provide no cover for them until they are across, and the sun is the least of their concerns there. If Bucky were to spot them approaching and attack now, they would have no protection from an aerial assault.

Despite this, Clint isn’t afraid, not really. He’d give anything to finally get eyes on Bucky, and if the safety of the men and women in this hunting party is the necessary trade-off… Well, they were already planning to go out with or without him, really, so it’s not his fault. Everyone here knew the risks when they decided they wanted to take on a disgruntled dragon.

They delay crossing the field for as long as they reasonably can, but although the sun is well past its peak by then, the stifling heat continues. Clint ignores it as best he can, reminds himself that he’s endured worse in his trek across the country and keeps putting one foot in front of the other. He keeps an ear out for the once-familiar beating of a dragon’s wings or the roar of its call, and makes sure to stay alert, to keep his eyes peeled for any threats. Truthfully, he's more likely to see Bucky coming than hear him, anyway; his hearing really hasn't improved all that much over the years.

They’re in the home stretch, less than a hundred metres to go, when Clint feels the hairs on the back of his neck beginning to raise. Clint turns in an instant, an arrow nocked and pointed skyward as his gaze darts around for the cause of the shadow that falls upon them far too suddenly to be natural.

Clint sucks in a breath when he finally sees him, and he hears Sam and several others do the same. There’s awe in a lot of the sounds, but there’s fear, too, and Clint just hopes everyone will assume his response is for the same reasons. Something settles inside of his chest at the sight of the dragon beginning to circle in the sky above them, a piece that Clint has been acutely aware of being missing since the last time he had to watch Bucky go.

A hushed murmuring picks up around him, rapidly becoming frenzied, and Clint can feel the adrenaline beginning to spike all around him. He grits his teeth as everyone else catches up and readies their weapons, some more unsteadily than others. The thought of so many weapons aimed at Bucky makes Clint see red, but he takes slow, steadying breaths in and out to try to ease it. Now isn’t the time to make his move, and, to everyone’s surprise, Bucky doesn’t attacked, instead he keeps soaring right past them, taking off over the woods.

Clint is the first to curse as he gently eases the string of his bow back into resting position and slips the arrow back into his quiver.

“I really hope he wasn’t heading for the village,” someone says, and everyone shuffles uneasily, casting glances back across the field and to the woods. Even if that was the case, they’d never make it back in time to make a difference. Better to just keep trucking onward now that they’re nearly at the base of the mountain.

* * *

  _Clint is already there when Bucky arrives, waiting high up in one of the trees facing the village. It had been the best vantage point for keeping watch, and he waits until he’s certain that the body he can see skating the shadows of the clearing is Bucky before he climbs down from his perch._

_It’s been two weeks since Bucky had fled, and seeing him now… Well, it’s the first time in as many weeks that Clint feels like he can actually breath._

_He whistles before he reaches the ground, watches as Bucky locates him and changes course to circle back towards him. He’s got two sacks at his feet, filled with whatever he could think of that might be of use to Bucky. Food, clothing, medicines and herbs. A resealable jug for water. But Bucky barely even glances at them, his attention fixed on Clint instead._

_“What happened?” Bucky demands, his fingers gentle as they trace the bruises on Clint’s cheek, the cut along his temple._

_Clint merely shrugs, and leans in to steal a kiss, but Bucky isn’t about to be distracted. When they finally break apart to breathe, he raises a pointed eyebrow and asks, instead, “Who was it?”_  

_Clint sighs, long and annoyed like Bucky has just asked a favour of him._

_“Howard and a few of his buddies,” he finally admits, “No big deal. They still think I knew ‘bout ya, but they got no proof.” Clint chuckles, pasting on a grin, and adds, “Stevie’s ma told ‘em off real good when she found out.”_

_“I’m sorry,” Bucky says, and he sounds so defeated that Clint, for just a moment, wishes he had slaughtered their village rather than letting them drive Bucky away._

_“It’s not your fault,” Clint says, and when Bucky visibly balks at that, his eyes go steely, “James Buchanan Barnes, nothing about this is your fault, do you hear me? You never asked for the gift the gods gave you, and you never asked t’ be born in a place where people wanna use you for that gift. The only people at fault here are the ones who think it would be ok to throw a collar ‘round your neck an’ make you wage their wars.”_

_Bucky can hear the anger simmering below Clint’s skin in his voice, can see the fire burning in his eyes, and he shudders. He can’t look away, even if he wanted to._

  _If helpin’ you stay free means lettin’ a couple of washed up, egotistical fuckers get in a few pot shots at me, then it’s a price I’ll pay again an’ again.”_  

_Bucky surges forward, steals Clint’s breath away with a passionate kiss. He had missed this, missed Clint. Missed his passion, and the way he did everything with his heart on his sleeve. He knows that it’s for the best, him leaving Clint behind, but it had been a harsh reality check when he first woke up and remember that Clint wasn’t there beside him, that he might never be again._

_If these are the last few stolen moments they’ll ever get, Bucky wants to make them worth remembering._

_Clint kisses back with just as much passion, just as much longing, and Bucky thinks he might drown in it all. It’s just too much, too much to have and not be able to keep, and Bucky wants to take, and take, and take, until there’s nothing left, just himself and Clint and no world to hide away from._  

_He could do it, he knows he could. He could shift, could pluck Clint up the same way he has so many times before, and they could fly away, could just keep flying until they reach somewhere that has never heard the names Bucky Barnes or Clint Barton before. Clint would let him. Clint would_ thank _him._

_But he won’t do that._

_Slowly, he breaks away from the kiss, and dips his head to rest against the curve of Clint’s neck. He licks absently at the sweat that trickles down it, but manages to catch himself before he can bite into it. Someone would question Clint on where it came from, and no one with half a brain would believe him capable of moving on so quickly. He makes a frustrated noise, and Clint’s hand settles in his hair._

_“I know,” he murmurs, “I hate this, too, I know.”_

_It’s not really fair that Clint is comforting him, not when he was the one who decided they couldn’t be together, but Bucky appreciates it all the same. It’s been so long since he even talked to another person, forget being touched by one. He never realized how much loneliness could ache._

_It’s some time later, the sun lower in the sky than it was when he’d first arrived, that Clint finally breaks the silence that had descended over them._

_“You’re gonna hafta shift for me t’ figure out how t’attach this,” Clint says, gesturing towards the two sacks by his feet with the hand that isn’t still in Bucky’s hair. He looks as regretful as he sounds, and Bucky can feel that same regret thrumming through himself. It makes his mouth go dry and his throat feel as if it’s caving in on itself; no matter how many times he opens his mouth, he can’t seem to get a word out._

_But Clint understands him anyway, he always did._

_“I know, Buck,” he murmurs, and he draws Bucky into a kiss that seems to simultaneously stretch on for an eternity and end far too quickly. He looks Bucky straight in the eyes, then, and makes him a promise._

_“I’ll find you, Bucky,” he vows, “When I’m stronger, when I can leave here an’ not hafta worry, I’ll look for ya, an’ I will find you.”_

_And Bucky. Well, he believes him._

* * *

Clint can still feel something buzzing under his skin when they finally call it a day and set up camp an hour or so after sundown. He’s so close now, after all these years, that he thinks he might just vibrate out of his skin if he has to wait any longer.

There’s been no sighting, yet, of Bucky returning, but Clint isn’t worried; he’s close enough now that he won’t be deterred by anything. The other members of the party seem torn on how to feel, and the air feels thick with anxiety because of it. Every moment that passes without Bucky’s return is a reminder that, although they were all spared their lives earlier, their village, or perhaps another like it, may not have been so lucky.

There’s been no sign of smoke or fire rolling in over the woods, but until Bucky returns, Clint knows the others won’t sleep easy. Clint prays to every god and goddess he can think of that Bucky was just out to stretch his wings.

Someone sits down next to him, and Clint rolls his neck slightly to look beside him. Sam offers him a smile and one of the two mugs of steaming broth he’s holding, and Clint takes the latter with an appreciative grunt. They both sit in silence for a long while, watching the treeline and sipping at their broth.

“You know,” Sam says after a while has passed, “That dragon has been living up there for a few years now, and never used to give us no trouble.” Clint shifts, turning towards the other man with his full attention while he continues, “Then one day, a hunting party came back missing a few men and talking about how the dragon just went wild and attacked them. We all thought maybe she was protecting an egg and our party just got too close, you know? So we stuck closer to our borders the next time we went out. But then she came to us, caused a lot of chaos. We still got some folks who ain't done rebuilding after the fires.”

Clint makes a thoughtful noise, filing the information away with what he's already gathered. It certainly lends credence to his theory that something is terribly, horribly wrong. It would be one thing for Bucky to lash out and fight to survive, to tear apart the hunters that have come after him, but to go unbidden to the village like that? Like the others fear he is doing again? No, that isn’t the Bucky he knows and loves.

“I don't know what happened to set ‘em off,” he says finally, knowing he owes Sam some kind of response, “But that ain't no mother. That dragon is male.”

“Huh. Well, whattaya know.”

Sam shrugs, and glances towards the fire burning a small ways away from them, “Anyway, we knew it wasn't about protecting a nest. Week or so after the attack on the village, some man shows up claiming to be a warlock. Calls himself Hive and says he and his dragon pal are gonna keep coming at us until we surrender to his rule.”

He makes a face, and looks over at Clint again, and Clint tries to school his features as the picture starts to slot into place in his mind.

“Wanna know what I think?” He asks after a while, setting the mug down a few inches from his feet, “I think that ain't no ordinary dragon. I think that's a shifter an’ your warlock got his claws in him, messed with his head or threatened him like anyone else who finds a shifter tries to.” The vehemence in his voice is unmistakable, but Clint hopes Sam won't read too much into it; he's sure he's not the only person around who thinks shifters ought to have rights of their own.

Sam gives him a long, assessing look, though, and Clint tries not to project any defensiveness.

“Sounds like you know a thing or two about the matter,” he says after a while, and Clint frowns down at his hands. Sam watches him expectantly, but makes no effort to press him. After a while, Clint gives in with a weary sigh.

“I knew one, once,” he confesses eventually, “He was… He was a good man, but the rest of the village found out and he chose to run rather than become their slave. Their weapon.” Clint spits the last word, and Sam raises an eyebrow.

“You helped him,” he says, and it's not a question so Clint doesn't deny it.

Silence falls between them for a time, until Sam speaks up again.

“So,” he asks, “What was his shift?”

Clint chuckles, and it’s a dark sound with a matching sardonic grin as he meets Sam’s gaze.

“A dragon.”

* * *

Honestly, Clint counts it as a blessing that Sam didn’t turn him over to the rest of the party after that revelation. Admittedly, he wouldn’t have any proof, and while dragons are uncommon, it’s not like they’re so rare that it couldn’t merely be a coincidence. It’s not like Clint had come out and told him that Bucky was a great big silver-scaled, black-spiked, fire-breathing dragon or anything.

Still, the way that Sam had looked at him after Clint told him… Well, Clint would bet his life that Sam had it figured out. He just hopes that, if that is the case, that he’s also considering what Clint had said about Bucky being coerced into his actions by this supposed warlock.

Mostly, though, he just hopes that his words don’t have Sam worried enough to sleep with one eye open. It’s that worry that has him waiting so much later into the night than he’d intended to before he’s finally comfortable enough with the depth of Sam’s breathing to get up. He has maybe an hour and a half left until sunrise when he finally manages to quietly gather his belongings and scrounge together a few extra healing supplies from the packs of the other hunters.

He keeps as quiet as possible as he slips away from the group and begins to climb up towards a ledge he’d noticed before on the mountain. Day is finally breaking when he reaches his destination, and Clint pointedly doesn’t look down as he slowly makes his way out over the narrow ledge. He stops halfway across and takes a deep breath before whistling loudly.

He doesn’t know if Bucky returned in the night from another direction, or if he’s lying in wait somewhere nearby, but Clint tries not to think about that, has to believe that Bucky is near enough to hear him. He waits, lets a few long minutes tick by before he whistles again, and strains his ears to listen for the sound of wings against the wind whipping past him. He whistles a third time, and holds his breath as the tops of the trees down below rustle suddenly.

_‘Please,’_ he thinks, _‘Please, Frigga, let Bucky remember me.’_

Bucky comes soaring up out of the woods, then, and Clint has to make a conscious effort to stand his ground. He whispers another prayer under his breath, and then whistles once more before raising his arm high into the air above him.

Bucky lets out an unfamiliar shriek, something that sounds almost like a cry of pain, and Clint nearly falters, and then does falter when he sees Bucky coming closer. He has to call upon all of the strength and balance in his body to stay upright and planted on that ledge as Bucky comes barreling towards him, his wings giving the wind more strength than it already had, and Clint thinks, for a moment, that he probably didn’t think this through very well. While any other place might have been a bit more difficult for Bucky to pick him up from, at least he wouldn’t have been at risk of falling.

He can’t think about that, now, though, has to have faith that if he does fall, Bucky will catch him - surely he still has that instinct? Clint shakes his head and carefully raises his head to stare down the dragon hovering unsteadily before him. The first thing he notices is the gleaming collar wrapped around Bucky’s neck, a red stone bright and swirling with unmistakable magic adorning it, and Clint’s heart sinks even as his vision goes red for a moment. This was the whole point of Bucky running away, to not end up someone’s captive like this. It isn’t fair that someone still found a way, and when Clint finds them, he’s going to kill them.

The next thing he notices, once he’s managed to push his anger far enough away to not get lost in it, is the way that Bucky’s eyes are glowing gold, and Clint can’t help the shudder that passes through him. There is no doubt in his mind, now, that he was right in what he told Sam hours earlier. This warlock, this… Hive, whoever he was, he had enchanted Bucky somehow - but Clint didn’t come all this way just to give up.

Sucking in a deep breath, Clint takes a few slow, careful steps closer, and reaches his hand out towards Bucky.

“Bucky,” he calls, loud enough to be heard over the wind, “It’s me, baby. It’s me, it’s Clint.”

The dragon stares at him for a long moment before letting out a huff of smoke from his snout, and Clint coughs as he inhales it but doesn’t try to retreat. Instead, he whistles again, and Bucky shakes his head wildly, huffing again.

“Bucky,” he says again, “James, you know me. I don’t know what happened to you, but I’m here now. I said I would find you, Buck, I’m sorry it took so long.”

Bucky lets out another shrieking wail and begins to turn away, the gold of his eyes flickering a few times before turning back to unwavering gold. He makes it a few feet away before Clint whistles one last time, a desperate bid to at least uncover Bucky’s instincts if not to actually make him recognize him, and when Bucky roars and turns back to look at him, Clint spreads his arms wide, leans back, and lets himself fall.

* * *

_Clint is eight when he first finds out the truth about Bucky. Looking back, it was really a wonder it took that long, with how much time the pair spent together, but Clint supposes that it’s a testament to Winnie’s ability to convey the importance of the secret to her young son._

_It’s late summer, and the boys have ventured away from the village on their self-assigned quest to find the perfect place to play. It had led them to a waterfall, hidden behind the other side of a cave at the edge of the wooded cliffs. Everything had been going fine, the two boys wading in the water at the edge of the cave, just far enough away from the pull off the falls._

_There's a certain stubborn invincibility in children, though, and Clint is the first to suggest that they go further out. He sways Bucky with his excitement and promise that the view will be worth it, and the two boys carefully wade further out into the water. The current is stronger as they move closer to the edge, but Clint grabs Bucky’s hand and drags him forward anyway._

_“We can climb out onto the ground there,” he says, pointing with the hand not entwined with Bucky’s to indicate a small ledge along the edge of the cliff that runs alongside the water. As they change course, veering left towards the ledge, the current grows stronger, less rocks behind them to catch and slow the water at this angle. Neither of them really expects it, and the sudden force wrenches them apart, their hands suddenly catching on air instead of one another._

_Clint shouts, floundering to find a foot- or handhold as the current pulls him further away from Bucky. It all happens so quickly after that, the current rapidly pulling Clint towards the edge and then over. He screams as he's pulled over, launched over the edge and he falls, falls, falls, his eyes shutting as he screams again._

_But instead of impacting with the water and the rocks waiting at the bottom, Clint finds his body jarring as something jerks his body upwards. Something sharp catches along his sides, scratching through his tunic and piercing his skin. His eyes fly open in surprise, and the ground is getting further away instead of closer._

_He shifts his gaze upwards, and lets out a strangled sound of awe at the sight that greets him. Above him is an expanse of scaled underbelly, and the longer he looks, the more the image above him settles into the recognizable shape of a dragon, its wings batting wildly as they circle through the air, slowly making their way towards the ground._

_Clint knows that he should be afraid, that this isn’t a rescue; he is merely trading falling to his death for being taken as this great creature’s dinner, but his fear feels distant, muted. It would be easy to assume that it is his shock that keeps it at bay, but Clint knows better. He feels- He feels safe, inexplicably but undeniably so; there is something too familiar to be threatening in the distressed cawing of the creature carrying him._

_All too soon, they’re landing, and the dragon is careful, so careful, shielding Clint’s small frame with its own body as it flips to land on its back rather than risk crushing Clint by landing on its feet. They skid along the ground for a few moments before coming to a full stop, and for several long seconds the fear makes itself known, keeps Clint paralysed where he rests on top of the dragon’s stomach. It’s only after a series of snorts that sound distinctly annoyed that Clint manages to gather his wits and scrambles off of the creature - but he doesn’t go far._

_A smarter child might have run, then, might have hoped that the few seconds of a lead would be enough to save themself, but Clint never claimed to be smart. Instead of running, he stands on shaking legs and watches through wide eyes as the dragon rolls over and gets its feet underneath it. It seems to watch him wearily for a few moments, then, and Clint slowly, hesitantly, raises his hand towards the creature. Seemingly just as hesitant, the dragon cautiously extends its neck until its snout is mere inches from Clint’s face, and there’s just something about its eyes, something so familiar and so welcoming that Clint can’t help himself, he lets his hand rest against the scaly snout and smiles._

_“Thank you for savin’ me,” he mumbles, shy but nonetheless suddenly and overwhelmingly confident that that is precisely what had just occurred._

_His hand is still resting against the dragon’s snout as the creature begins to glow a faint gold, and then shrinks, shrinks, shrinks, resolving itself into the small and entirely human body of his best friend as the glow fades away. Clint can’t help but gasp, his hand withdrawing from Bucky’s cheek in his surprise, but he doesn’t miss the way Bucky’s eyes flicker with uncertainty and fear, and, no, no, he won’t have that._

_“Bucky,” he whispers, awed and honoured; he knows what it could have cost Bucky to reveal this to someone, and the fact that Bucky either trusted him enough, or wanted him to live more than he cared about protecting himself… It’s a humbling feeling. Clint dashes forward after another long moment stretches by, arms wrapping around the other boy as he draws him into the tightest embrace that he can._

_“Buck, you saved me,” Clint says, and he can feel himself shaking, suddenly, the adrenaline of his near death experience finally spiking, but Bucky tentatively hugs him in return, and then holds him tighter as if he thinks he can hold Clint together from shaking apart. “Bucky, I won’t tell no one, I swear it,” he vows, and feels the last of the tension drain from the other boy’s body, “You’re my best friend, Buck, I’ll protect ya.”_

* * *

Clint doesn’t remember much after letting himself fall, assumes he must have blacked out, but the fact that he’s waking up at all, and doesn’t seem to be in any pain, must mean that Bucky had caught him. The thought makes his heart pound in his chest, and Clint jolts upright from the cool stone he’d been laying on.

He looks around wildly, and grabs for the bow that he can still feel hooked over his shoulder along with his quiver and satchel. Hah. Yeah, no, guess a dragon wouldn’t exactly have been able to get him undressed and put to bed properly, huh? 

A hysterical giggle escapes him at the thought, and Clint draws an arrow from his quiver but doesn’t nock it.

“Bucky?” He tries to call out, but his voice comes out scratchy and rough. He coughs, and tries again with a little more success.

There’s a low rumble from somewhere behind him, and Clint finally manages to stand up, turning to face the depths of the cave he now realizes he’s in. He can just barely make out the shape of the dragon in the shadows, and Clint aches to move closer and curl up between his legs to go back to sleep. Slowly, but very deliberately, he slips the arrow back into his quiver, and then slides it off of his shoulder to set both it and his bow aside, resting them against one of the walls of the cave.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he reassures, and takes a step back towards the mouth of the cave, hoping to slowly coax Bucky out into the light. He must have at least succeeding in making the dragon move, because suddenly the glow of red from his collar illuminates the space slightly, and Clint wants to be sick even as he’s grateful to be able to somewhat see Bucky now.

“Thanks for catchin’ me,” Clint says after a while, and the smile he gives is sheepish, “Wish I could say I knew ya would, but, uh-- Well, I hoped ya would, so there’s that?” He takes another step back, and watches as Bucky shifts restlessly and then finally steps forward. Clint sucks in a breath as he tips his head back to stare upwards while Bucky draws to his full shifted height.

The gold in his eyes is flickering again, like it had done briefly before Clint fell, and Clint wonders if that means something, if it’s naive and foolish to think that it means his presence is weakening whatever sway Hive has on Bucky. He takes a step forward, encouraged by this theory, and Bucky snaps at him threateningly and backs up a step. Clint holds his hands up in surrender, frowning.

“Sorry, sorry,” he murmurs, then promises, “I’m really not here to hurt you.” He sighs when Bucky continues to stare at him with his teeth barred, and slumps his shoulders.

It isn’t fair. He’s finally found Bucky, is finally back with him, right where he belongs, but they might as well still be worlds apart for all they can communicate with each other. He just wants to make Bucky remember, to help him understand that Clint is safe, that Clint being here means he’s going to help him.

A thought strikes him, and he feels sick again. If Bucky doesn’t remember him… What else doesn’t he remember? Does he even know who he is? Does he know _what_ he is?

He clenches his jaw at the thought, and looks at Bucky again.

“Your name is James Buchanan Barnes,” he starts, his voice as even as he can make it, “And you are not a dragon. Your parents were George and Winifred Barnes, an’ you have a sister named Rebecca.” Clint takes a steadying breath, and then goes on, “You were blessed by Loki with the ability to shapeshift into that body there, but you are human. And I-”

Clint hesitates. He’d never said those words to Bucky before, would it be fair to have the moment tarnished like this? Stolen from them but some mad warlock with a vendetta - or whatever else had him targeting the people of Sam’s village.

He takes another deep breath.

“My name is Clint, and I made a vow years ago when you had to flee our home. I promised that I would find you, and that was so that we could be together again.” Clint blinks, surprised to find that he has tears in his eyes, but keeps speaking, “Well, I’m here now. I found you, and I’m not leavin’ you or lettin’ you leave again. If you’re gonna to kill me, then so be it, but I’m not leavin’ on my own. I- I missed you, Buck. S’been so long, an’ I ain’t felt whole since ya left.”

Clint blinks again, and reaches up to scrub the tears away from his eyes, and once his vision has cleared again, Bucky’s eyes are once again flickering. It seems to go on for hours, but surely it isn’t really that long before the last of the gold finally fades and Bucky let out a long, pitiful, tortured roar that sends Clint to his knees, his hands clutching at his chest as he gasps for breath.

“Bucky,” he gasps -- chokes, really -- as he looks up at the dragon before him in awe. The collar is still locked firm, its gem glowing just as it had been, but Bucky’s eyes are clear, are back to the familiar black he had come to know and expect from this form. But even as they’re familiar, they are unfamiliar, too, filled with a deep pain that Clint has never seen in them before. Well, that was to be expected, even if it makes Clint want to burn the world down to destroy the person who had put that look there, who had caused Bucky so much pain and suffering.

All of that could be dealt with later, though, even the collar that was keeping Bucky locked in his shifted form. Right now, Bucky is free of whatever enchantment had been placed on him, and Clint can’t be sure if it’s permanent or temporary.

“Bucky,” Clint says again as he stands and immediately begins to walk towards him, only to pull himself up short when Bucky lets out a pitiful whine and tries to back up. Clint frowns, and holds out a hand towards Bucky, aching to touch him, to sooth him. He steps forward again, and Bucky lets out another whine. “I ain’t gonna hurt you,” he says, and Bucky lets out what can only be called an unimpressed snort. Clint considers him for a long moment, and then nods decisively.

"You won't hurt me," he murmurs, his arm still outstretched, though he doesn’t move any closer this time, not wanting to spook Bucky any more than he already has. He can read the hesitation in the dragon's eyes when he looks at him, and stands his ground. "Ya won't," he repeats.  
  
After a long moment, Clint takes a few steps closer and then waits. And waits.  
  
Finally, after several more minutes have passed, Bucky comes closer and then ducks his head, his neck stretched long so that he can nuzzle his snout against Clint's hand. Clint beams, but tells himself not to make any sudden movements in his excitement.

The seconds seem to drag on for an eternity as Bucky sniffs at him until, finally, he snorts out a huff of air and noses at Clint’s palm with more intent.

“See?” Clint sooths, and he strokes Bucky’s snout gently, “You're so good, Buck. I trust you.” He inches forward again until he can rest his forehead against Bucky’s scales. “Missed this,” he says softly, “Missed you.”

Bucky whines low in his throat, and then huffs again. To Clint’s ears, it sounds an awful lot like agreement.

The hard won peace is shattered only a few moments later when Bucky scents the air and then starts growling. He curls his tail protectively around Clint’s legs as he snorts out a puff of smoke towards the opening of the cave, and Clint wishes that he hadn’t left his bow out of reach. He turns nonetheless, though, arms raising to attack or defend, but he’s startled into letting them fall back to his sides when he sees who the intruder is.

“Natalia?” He asks, his surprise clear in his voice, and Bucky cuts a glance towards him as if to question how they know one another. “She’s from the village,” Clint explains as he gently pets Bucky’s side even as his gaze stays fixed on the barmaid.

“How-” He starts, then changes course, “Why are you here?”

The woman raises an eyebrow at him, before focusing on Bucky for a long moment. Clint can see something flickering in her eyes, some kind of sadness, and he thinks back to what Sam had said about her ability to read people. Perhaps it wasn’t just a simple sixth sense. A long moment passes, long enough that Clint wonders if she even remembers that he asked her a question.

“Natalia?” He asks again, and it seems to bring the woman back to herself.

“You must go,” she says, an urgency to her voice even as she continues to present herself serenely - and Clint isn’t even going to question how she made it here all on her own, much less having done so unseen and without seeming to be suffering from exerting herself. “Sam and the others will be here soon,” she continues, and Clint feels his back stiffen at the reminder, “He’s told them your… theory, but I can’t guarantee that anyone is ready to think rationally yet. The pain of loss is still too fresh.”

Clint thinks he can understand, but the thought of anyone coming after Bucky after learning the truth makes him want to scream at the injustice of it all. That won’t solve anything, though, and so Clint nods, and moves quickly to gather his few belongings. He wonders, idly, if there’s anything Bucky needs him to bring along, but he supposes that’s unlikely for now. They’ll come back when he’s finally free to change back into his human body.

“How did you know to follow the party?” Clint asks curiously, perhaps even a bit wearily, pausing on his way back to Bucky to look at Natalia instead. “Why come all this way?”

Natalia gives him another one of those sad looks and lifts a shoulder in the smallest of shrugs.

“You told me,” she says, and before Clint can voice his confusion, she continues, “It was all there when I read you the other night. Your mind is not a quiet place, archer.” She gives Bucky a look that Clint can only describe as apologetic before adding, “I only regret not reading it off of you sooner. The enchantment… I believe it interfered.” She straightens, brushing her hair back behind her shoulder, and presses her lips into a thin line, her expression suddenly much more serious.

“Now,” she says, “Go.”

Clint nods once again, and takes a moment to secure his quiver over his shoulder next to his satchel, but keeps a firm grip on his bow. He moves slowly as he approaches Bucky, hoping that he won’t startle again, and waits until Bucky finally dips his head to nuzzle at Clint’s once-again outstretched palm.

“Just like old times?” He asks, and Bucky huffs out what Clint deems a laugh as he turns and makes his way out of the cave and into open air. He raises his arm, braces it, and whistles even though Bucky is already soaring out of the cave, circling high in the air before dropping lower to pluck Clint up with his claws.

Clint can’t help but let out a joyous shout at the familiar feeling, at the way his stomach flips and the wind rushes over and around him. Carefully, he scrambles out from between Bucky’s claws and up to plant himself on one of his feet, and wraps both arms around Bucky’s leg to keep himself steady. It’s still not ideal for shooting, but Clint nocks an arrow anyway, and just prays to Ull that his aim will be true if needed. He regrets, for a moment, not having had the chance to learn better ways to fight side by side, but quickly writes it off as the least of his regrets concerning Bucky.

When they get out of this, they’ll have time to train together. That is, if Bucky ever chooses to shift back into this form once he’s finally freed from it, a thought that sends a cold shiver down Clint’s spine. He’s not sure he could do it, if the roles were reversed, and he hates that someone might have taken such an important thing from Bucky, could have permanently perverted such an integral part of who he is.

His thoughts all screech to an abrupt halt when an arrow goes whizzing past him, just barely missing his cheek, and Clint immediately snaps into that serene place he always finds himself in when he goes hunting. It doesn’t take him long to locate the hunting party coming up the side of the cliff, even as Bucky flies higher and further away from them to avoid their shots.

“Steady, Buck,” Clint calls, sighting down the line of his arrow while Bucky obeys and settles into a calmer flightpath. Really, he doesn’t want to hurt these people, but if they refuse to grant Bucky safe passage, Clint isn’t afraid to do what needs to be done. He ignores the other arrows that manage to reach them despite their altitude, and keeps his aim locked on the hunter whom he’s determined to have the best aim; his first priority should he need to start making shots himself.

* * *

In the end, Clint doesn’t need to make the shot, but keeps his arrow nocked nonetheless until he and Bucky have left the hunting party far behind.

Bucky sets them down, eventually, along a riverbank that is hidden well within the foliage of the forest surrounding them. It’s the same forest that Clint and the hunting party had come through the previous day, although Clint suspects that they’ve flown beyond the boundaries of Sam and Natalia’s village. How far beyond them, though, Clint is unsure, but it’s far enough that there is no way for the party to catch up to them before nightfall.

It doesn’t mean that they’re safe, not by any means, but Clint figures they’re probably _safe enough_. Still, he keeps his bow in position while he walks the perimeter, just in case, only letting it lower when he returns to Bucky.

“All clear,” he says, and then promptly smushes his face up against Bucky’s leg, his words muffled as he continues, “Now we just gotta figure out how to get that fuckin’ collar offa you.” He remains there as Bucky lets out a sad little puff of smoke, but abruptly pulls away when he feels something wet against his forehead. When he reaches up to wipe it away, his fingertips come back covered in red.

Clint makes a strangled noise as he looks at Bucky again, slowly lifting his gaze upwards until he finds the culprit. It isn’t a large wound, but it seems that one of the arrows did manage to graze Bucky before they had flown high enough, and Clint feels his stomach tighten with a once-familiar panic.

“Buck, you’re hurt,” he says, horrified, and ignores the pointed look the dragon gives him, “What are you doin’ standin’ on it like that? Lay down, you idiot.” He keeps fussing until Bucky finally concedes, and then promptly kneels down next to him and sets his bow aside. He pulls his quiver from his shoulder next, and sets it aside with the bow, and then goes for his satchel.

“Always gotta be so gods-be-damned stubborn,” he mutters to himself, “Just got shot by an arrow, but, oh no, I’m fine, nothin’ to see here.” Bucky lets out a harsh puff of smoke right over him, and Clint glares right through his coughing fit. “Nope, we’re talkin’ ‘bout you, not me,” he continues, “I’m a fuckin’ peach and Eir loves me.”

Clint rolls his eyes and digs through his satchel as Bucky grumbles, pulling out a few small clay bottles and jars and setting them on the ground.

“Sarah made most of these,” he says as he starts to open them, “Taught me a few things, too. Think she knew I was comin’ after ya.” He looks over at Bucky, considering him for a long moment.

“You remember Sarah, don’cha?” He asks, but he turns back to his task, knowing he'll receive no real answer, “Stevie’s ma.” Clint's voice hitches then, and he bows his head. “Oh, Buck,” he says, “You missed so much. We lost Stevie the winter after ya left. He got sick in the chest after savin’ a little one who fell in the water. Couldn't shake it.”

Clint’s hands are shaking enough that he has to stop for a moment, and he uses that time to scrub at his eyes with the back of his hand.

“He never stopped believin’ in ya, Buck,” Clint admits, “Stubborn as a rock, that one. Said it didn't matter what ya could do, he knew you were a good sort. He understood ya ran to stay free.” Clint smiles weakly over at Bucky, “Guess that didn't pan out so well.”

Bucky lets out a sorrowful cry, his wings shifting restlessly at his sides, and Clint takes a deep breath and then lets it out slowly.

“It’s all gonna be over soon,” Clint tells him as he opens one of the jars of salve, “I promise. I don’t know how, but I’m gonna get you out of that thing.”

* * *

Clint had spent a while assessing the collar after that, having found the only other wounds that needed dressing were from chaffing around Bucky’s throat. When he finally jumps back to the ground, it’s with an air of frustration that he had previously been managing to keep at bay.

“I just don’t fuckin’ get it,” he growls, agitation clear in the way his fingers keep jumping at his sides even when he tries to curl his hands into fists, “It’s- There’s no- It’s _seamless_ , how can it be seamless? It had to go on somehow, didn’t it?” He looks up at Bucky imploringly, but he knows it’s useless; in this body, there’s no way for Bucky to explain what had happened or what he remembers.

It’s not fair. Not to Bucky, most importantly, and not to him either. He wants to scream, or hit something, but he knows that’s not going to do anything - and if he’s being honest with himself, Clint knows that his anger is just a front for his guilt. He never should have let Bucky push him away, should have _made_ Bucky take him with him. He shouldn’t have waited so long to follow him, should have made good on his vow a long, long time ago, before it risked being too late as it did now - because Clint knows, deep in his soul, that this never would have happened if he had been there, because Clint would have made Ull proud and put an arrow straight through that fuckin’ warlock’s eye and then another through his chest if he’d so much as tried to lay a finger on Bucky.

He lets out another frustrated growl, and turns his back on Bucky as he bends down to scoop up his bow and quiver.

“I’m gonna go hunt us some dinner,” he mutters, adding bitterly, “At least that’s _something_ I can do.” With that, he storms off into the woods before Bucky can protest, and pointedly ignores the roar that Bucky sends at his retreating back.

For a while, he just walks, too overwhelmed by his emotions to calm down and fade into the shadows rather than stomping around and driving the prey away. Eventually, though, Clint manages to pull himself together, and takes comfort in settling into that huntsman headspace for the second time that day.

He loses time, but that’s not entirely uncommon, and the sun has begun its descent when Clint finally stops shooting targets just for the release and gathers up as many of the still intact arrows as he can. It doesn’t take him much longer after that to take out a few hare; they won’t be enough, not with Bucky’s current size and the appetite that comes with it, but he’s got some dried fruits and nuts in his bag, and Bucky should have no trouble catching himself a few fish from the river if he needs anything more.

He makes his way back to the riverbed in time to see the sun hitting the water, and tosses his prey down before removing his bow and quiver and setting them aside. He sets about putting together the sticks for a fire, but stops when Bucky gets in his way, resting his own head atop Clint’s and letting out a small huff.

“Yeah, ‘m better now,” Clint says with a sigh, his shoulders slumping in resignation, “Sorry, Buck. I just- You know how I can get.” Bucky snuffles at his hair for a moment longer before pulling away. He allows Clint to finish stacking the fire and then takes it into his own hands to light it, aiming carefully when Clint refuses to step back.

Bucky settles back down, then, next to the fire, and Clint grabs a few more sticks to pike the hare carcuses and prop them up around the fire.

“Probably gonna wanna catch some fish, too,” he says, and Bucky raises his head for a moment to look at him balefully before settling down again. “Alright, whatever. Sorry for not wantin’ you t’ starve t’ death, love.”

Bucky huffs again, and Clint looks away to hide a fond smile under the guise of making sure the meat is being rotated well enough. When it’s finally done cooking and Clint has managed to get enough skinned for himself, he brings the rest over to Bucky, and then curls up with his back to Bucky’s side while he eats his own share.

“Sorry, Buck,” he teases, “Didn’t get t’ be much of a better cook while you were gone. Bet I’da starved without Sarah and Becca.” He can feel Bucky’s body vibrating as he rumbles, and Clint chuckles, patting Bucky’s side as he closes his eyes, “Yeah, I know, Buck. ‘M hopeless.”

* * *

 When Clint wakes up, it’s perhaps an hour before sunrise. The fire has died, but he’s still warm, Bucky having moved to cradle him between his front legs while he slept. It’s comfortable, familiar, and Clint wants to simply close his eyes and drift off again, but he can’t ignore the sensation of being watched that he assumes woke him up. The hairs on his arms and the back of his neck are on end, and Clint slows his breathing as he careful rolls to face away from Bucky. He cracks his eyes open, locating his bow and quiver, and then waits.

There’s a rustle in the leaves after a few more moments have passed, and then Clint is on his feet. He makes a dive for his bow, rolling into a crouch as he snags it and then quickly reaching to sling his quiver onto his back. He nocks an arrow, and waits, his gaze darting around the treeline. Jostled by Clint’s movement, Bucky, too, awakens, his wings flapping threateningly as he stands up and growls, teeth bared menacingly.

Clint catches a flash of red out of the corner of his eye, and turns, finds himself staring down his arrow at Natalia.

“Odin’s sake, are you _tryin’_ to get yourself shot?” He shouts angrily, but doesn’t actually lower his weapon when the woman raises her hands and slowly steps closer. “The fuck are you doin’ here? Odin’s bloody fuckin’ beard, you’re lucky I got steady hands and I don’t spook easy!”

Natalia rolls her eyes, and Clint glares at her, hands still steady on his bow and arrow.

“Think I asked what you’re doin’ here,” he says again, and Natalia sighs, crossing her arms.

“I’m not your enemy, archer,” she says, as if that explains everything, but Clint is done with taking everything at face-value. This girl keeps showing up, keeps taking such an interest in Bucky, and she’s already shown that she has magic… Clint’s eyes narrow as a thought crosses his mind.

“Who are you really, Natalia?” He asks, and the woman pauses for a moment, staring him down before she lets out a delicate laugh.

“Not who you’re afraid I am,” she says, but Clint doesn’t feel especially reassured. He stands slowly, the arrow still aimed at her, and moves so that he can protect Bucky better should he need to.

“And if I don’t believe you?”

“Then that’s your decision,” she says easily, “But it doesn’t make you right.”

She sighs again, and closes her eyes, leaving herself seemingly vulnerable, and Clint-

He can’t take the shot. Which leads to him panicking about not being able to take the shot for about a solid minute before he accepts that it’s truly his gut and not a spell that’s keeping him locked in place.

“You are one very paranoid man,” Natalia teases, opening her eyes as Clint finally lowers his bow and gently guides the string back to its resting position.

Clint snorts, and takes a step back towards Bucky as he replies, “I’ve got a lot of reasons for that.”

“I understand,” she says, her eyes sweeping over Bucky before returning to Clint, “But I truly am here to help.”

“How?” Clint demands, and then hesitates, “Do you… Whatever magic it is you have, can you… That collar, it can only be opened with magic, can’t it? I couldn’t find anywhere that looked like it would split open.”

Natalia nods, but her expression is sombre, and Clint can feel himself deflating from his short-lived moment of hope.

“You are correct,” she tells him, tells _them_ , really, “That collar can only be taken off in one of two ways. The first is by magic, as you surmised, but that is not a realm into which my abilities extend, I’m sorry.”

Clint wants to scream, but it isn’t Natalia’s fault, she isn’t the one who deserves his anger. Clint takes a deep breath, and loosens his grip on his bow, afraid that he might snap it in half.

“And the second way?”

The redhead’s stare turns dark, then, predatory, and Clint is struck by the realization that this woman is no simple barmaiden. No, she’s something more. Perhaps, given her gift, she too has known what it is to fight for her freedom and survival.

“When a collar like this is locked onto a shifter, there is a binding enchantment involved,” she explains, and Clint can’t help but frown whilst Bucky whines behind him. Had he not already broken whatever was binding Bucky’s memories and will? Before he can ask, though, Natalia continues, “The red stone, that’s the binding stone. So long as the _Master_ is alive and refuses to break the bond, the Shifter will remain bound in their second form.”

Natalia looks Clint in the eyes, then, holding his gaze as if to look for signs of weakness or uncertainty, but Clint already knows what she’s going to say next.

“Hive will never release him willingly,” she warns, and Clint nods.

“Then he needs to die.”

Clint’s voice never wavers, and if Natalia is surprised, she gives no indication. But Bucky shifts behind him, restless, and nudges Clint with his snout between his shoulder blades. For once, he’s not sure what Bucky is trying to tell him, and his confusion must shown on his face when he looks up at him because Bucky just lets out a sorrowful cry.

“He doesn’t want you to have blood on your hands,” Natalia tells him, and Clint frowns, turns around to face Bucky even if some part of his mind is still weary of turning his back on Natalia.

“Buck,” he says, one hand resting on top of Bucky’s snout as the other rests along its side, “I’m sorry, but it’s already too late for that. I’ve done a lotta things to get me here, love, and addin’ takin’ out some bastard who enslaves shifters and tries t’ conquer innocent villagers to that list ain’t somethin’ I’ll lose sleep over. Okay?”

Bucky seems to hesitate, but he ducks his head eventually, and Clint smiles sadly.

“Let me take care of you for a change, Buck,” he murmurs. Clearing his throat, Clint straightens and turns back towards Natalia, “So how do we find him?”  
  
Natalia opens her mouth to respond, but promptly closes it again as a bird cries out loudly nearby, and Clint arches his eyebrow at her. Moments later, a bird comes soaring out of the forest and lands itself neatly on Natalia’s shoulder.

“I don’t think we’ll have to,” she finally says, tipping her head to look at the falcon on her shoulder as her tone turns scolding, “I told you to get as far from here as you could in case this exact thing happened.” There’s an undercurrent of fear to her voice, despite her efforts to hide it, and Clint can see it in her eyes, too; he imagines it must be the same look that’s in his right now.

“Sam?” He asks, hesitant but not uncertain, and Natalia nods and looks up at him.

“Yes,” she says simply, no further explanation offered, and then adds, “Hive is nearing. I suspected he would know that his hold on Bucky had been broken, and it seems I was right.”

“Bucky,” Clint says, his voice cold as he raises his bow, “Fly away. Get away from here, and stay away until that collar falls off your neck and you know he’s dead.”

Bucky growls, wrapping his tail around Clint’s legs, and stands his ground.

“This isn’t up for debate,” Clint grits out, and a glance at Natalia suggests that she’s having a similar argument with Sam, “I won’t let him take you again. _Go._ ”

A laugh rings out from the edge of the forest then, and Clint immediately turns towards the noise, drawing and nocking an arrow as he does. Bucky roars behind him, anguished and angry, and Natalia’s expression is focused, her eyes blank, and Clint wonders distantly if all the rumours he’s heard about what telepaths can do are true. Sam shuffles restlessly on her shoulder, snaps his beak at the man stepping out of the woods.

“Oh, I think it’s just a bit too late for that now,” the man says, and Clint feels a chill go down his spine. “You didn’t think I’d let you take my strongest creature that easily, did you? And look, now I’ll come out with two instead of one. I’m certain I’ve got a collar at home small enough for that pretty bird of yours, Ms. Romanova.”

Clint takes the opportunity presented to him, firing a shot off towards the man when he turns his attention to Natalia. Everything after that happens so very, very quickly, and Clint will need Natalia’s help to piece it all together later. He doesn’t even remain on his feet long enough to see the arrow graze the side of the warlock’s neck, a thin trail of blood left behind in its wake. Bucky’s tail around his legs lashes out, tripping him forwards, and Clint turns so that his shoulder will break the fall, not wanting to risk damage to his bow. He barely manages to hold back a shout at the way the bones in his shoulder grind together on impact.

“I don’t think I’m strong enough to break his hold on both them,” Natalia cries out, but Clint can tell from the strain in her voice that it isn’t stopping her from trying. He doesn’t look over, but he can hear Sam’s agitated cawing, assumes he’s attacking Natalia in his own way.

He rolls, pushing himself to his feet and just narrowly managing to avoid being scorched as Bucky roars and lets out a breath of flames.

“Bucky, stop,” Clint pleads, nocking another arrow and taking a few steps back, “C’mon, love, it’s me, it’s Clint. Don’t make me hurt you, Buck.”

It’s useless, Bucky continues to advance on him, snarling and snapping at him, and Clint makes the only decision that he can; he turns his back on Bucky and runs, puts distance between them and hopes that he can take out the real culprit. It won’t buy him much time, Bucky is too fast, and Hive won’t let this be easy, but he has to try. He takes aim at the warlock once again, and then Sam is there, out of nowhere, the arrow going through his wing as he flies directly into the arrow’s path.

Natalia screams, enraged, and Clint just feels cold.

They can’t fight, not when they care about the people Hive is using as both weapons and his own personal shields, not if they’re afraid to hurt them in the crossfire, and Clint freezes as that realization hits him. It’s enough time for Bucky to catch up to him again, and Clint just lets it happen when the dragon picks him up by his shoulders, his claws digging in and drawing blood as he jerks him upwards.

_”Natalia,”_ he thinks as loudly as he can, _“Just focus on Sam, just try to keep him still, even if it’s from being trapped between both of your minds.”_

He can’t afford to care beyond that, but he hopes that she heard him, and she hopes that she’s able to keep Sam safe. He can’t let the not knowing stop him, though, and Clint draws and aims again as best as he can, even as his shoulder screams in protest. His range of motion is limited, but Clint still lets off a shot, and quickly lines up another, letting it go too. He thinks that at least one of them must have met its target because Bucky roars, and aims them back towards the ground, back towards his _Master_ , and Clint whispers an apology to Bucky and a prayer to the gods before drawing another arrow and stabbing it into Bucky’s foot.

They aren’t yet as close to the ground as he would have liked, but when Bucky releases him, Clint ducks and rolls the same way he had so many times in his younger days. It’s not easy with his quiver on his back and a bow in his hand, and he knows he’ll be feeling that one later - if he makes it through this, anyway. He draws again, as fluidly as he can, as he pulls himself up from his crouch, and takes aim. He never gets to make that shot, though, as a blast of what he can only assume is pure energy knocks him backwards.

“Fuckin’ warlocks,” he mutters, head spinning from where it had smashed against the ground when he’d landed. He struggles back to his feet, but his bow is broken, and Clint lets it fall from his hands. He can feel dampness and stickiness along the side of his face, the back of his head, but he pushes all thoughts of pain aside as he reaches for two more arrows from his quiver. He grasps one tightly in each hand, and charges towards Hive with a loud shout.

He manages to get one of them plunged into the warlock’s back, and revels in the outraged scream it draws, but it is the last thing he hears besides his own scream of pain before the world goes black.

Awareness rushes through Bucky at the sound of screaming, and he turns away from the woman - witch? - he’s been struggling against. No, not just any woman. Natalia, that had been her name, but she was supposed to be on their side. Their side. Their-

_Clint_.

He looks around wildly for the other man, finally spotting him laid out on the ground. The man who had taken Bucky’s mind twice now is standing over him, hands glowing, and Bucky feels the briefest flash of _fight-protect-master_ but it’s gone as quickly as it comes, and the roar of rage that he lets out is for Clint, not the warlock.

Hive doesn’t seem to realize.

“Yes,” he urges when Bucky charges closer. He cracks his neck, and turns away from Clint’s battered body, “Finish him off, I grow tired of this fight.” He lifts a hand to cover the wound on his back, and it glows a faint yellow for a moment, and when he pulls his hand away, the wound is gone.

Bucky roars again, neck back and mouth pointed to the sky. He hears Natalia’s scream, feels her make one last push at his mind before abruptly backing off, and hopes that it was because she realized he is himself again. His mouth is still open, jaw wide as Bucky lowers himself back to look at the scene in front of him. There’s a twisted glee on the warlock’s face, presumably from the thought of making Bucky kill his lover, and Bucky’s only regret is that he doesn’t think Hive will have time to see his death coming.

As his mouth closes around Hive’s torso and his jaw clamps shut, Bucky doesn’t feel one bit of regret. He knows he should, that this is the first life he’s ever taken while in his own mind and that it should mean something, but all he feels is a sick sort of satisfaction as he bites down harder and tears upward until he feels the body split in two. It should be gross, but Bucky is too overwhelmed by the sudden feeling of the collar around his neck shattering in tandem with Hive’s death, and the rush of human awareness that he can feel again for the first time in over a year.

He spits the upper half of the warlock’s body out, douses it in flames just to be sure, and then moves closer to Clint’s prone body. Bucky whines as he nudges the archer with his snout, shuffles his body between the relative safety of his legs, and then promptly loses his own battle for consciousness. The last thing he feels before he blacks out is the once-familiar feeling of bone and muscle shrinking and rearranging.


	3. Epilogue

“Are you ready?” Natalia asks, slipping in through a crack in the door before closing it behind herself. Clint looks up at her from his seat at the table, his eyes wide and cheeks pale, and she chuckles as she moves closer to him.

“Come now,” she tells him, “This is all either of you has talked about for the past five months, I’m not going to let you back out now.”

Sitting down across from him, Natalia picks up the braided cord of ribbons on the table between them and reaches for Clint’s hand.

“Tell me you realize that your love broke Hive’s enchantment twice,” she says, and Clint ducks his head, a blush rising in his cheeks.

“Well, yeah, but-”

“No buts.”

Clint sighs, and looks up at the woman sitting across from him. He hesitates a few times, opening and closing his mouth again and again before finally voicing his greatest fear:

“What if he’s settlin’ ‘cos he thinks he owes me now?”

“Oh, Clint,” Natalia says, her smile sad as she squeezes his hand, “You know that you’re both open books to me, yes?” She waits for Clint to nod before she continues, “What I read from him about you is just as strong as what your mind tells me about him. I promise you that.”

Clint takes a shuddering breath, his shoulders sagging with relief, and he nods.

“Okay,” he says, squeezing Natalia’s hand once before letting go and standing up, He flashes her the kind of smile that she would mock him for on any other day, and repeats, “Okay, we’ve waited long enough for this. I’m ready.”


End file.
